


The Bible

by ussnicole



Series: The Gospel of Saint Jimmy [1]
Category: Green Day
Genre: Alcohol, American Idiot - Freeform, Are We Waiting, Blasphemy, Death, Depression, Drugs, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Give Me Novacaine, Green Day - Freeform, Homecoming, Jesus of Suburbia - Freeform, Letterbomb, Punk, Saint Jimmy - Freeform, Song Lyrics, St. Jimmy - Freeform, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussnicole/pseuds/ussnicole
Summary: Don't want to be an American Idiot.The gospel of Saint Jimmy, according to Green Day.





	The Bible

1  
  
---  
  
1 Don't wanna be an American idiot, one nation controlled by the media. 2 Information Age of hysteria, it's calling out to idiot America: 3 Welcome to a new kind of tension all across the alien nation where everything isn't meant to be okay. 4 Television dreams of tomorrow; we're not the ones who're meant to follow, for that's enough to argue.

 

2  
  
---  
  
1 I'm the son of rage and love, the Jesus of Suburbia, the bible of none of the above, 2 on a steady diet of soda Pop and Ritalin. 2 No one ever died for my sins in hell as far as I can tell - at least the ones that I got away with. 3 Get my television fix sitting on my crucifix; the living room is my private womb while the Moms and brats are away. 4 At the center of the earth in the parking lot of the 7-11 where I was taught the motto was just a lie. 5 It says home is where your heart is, but what a shame, cause everyone's heart doesn't beat the same. It's beating out of time. 6 Everyone's so full of shit, born and raised by hypocrites; hearts recycled but never saved from the cradle to the grave. 7 We are the kids of war and peace from Anaheim to the Middle East. We are the stories and disciples of the Jesus of suburbia.

 

3  
  
---  
  
1 The rage and love, the story of my life - the Jesus of Suburbia is a lie.

 

 

 

4  
  
---  
  
1 St. Jimmy's comin' down across the alleyway; up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade. Light of a silhouette, he's insubordinate. 2 My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out: suicide commando that your momma talked about. 3 King of the forty thieves, and I'm here to represent that needle in the vein of the establishment. 4 I'm the patron saint of the denial with an angel face and a taste for suicidal. 5 Cigarettes and Ramen and a little bag of dope; I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allan Poe raised in the city under a halo of lights: the product of war and fear that we've been victimized. 6 My name is St. Jimmy, I'm a son of a gun; I am the one that's from the way outside: a teenage assassin executing some fun in the cult of the life of crime. 7 I'd really hate to say it but I told you so, so shut your mouth before I shoot you down ol' boy. 8 Welcome to the club and give me some blood, I'm the resident leader of the lost and found. 9 It's comedy and tragedy, it's St. Jimmy, and that's my name, and don't wear it out.

5  
  
---  
  
1 Out of body and out of mind; kiss the demons out of my dreams. 2 I get the funny feeling, that's alright - Jimmy says it's better than here. 3 Drain the pressure from the swelling; the sensation's overwhelming. 4 Give me a long kiss goodnight and everything will be alright. Tell me, Jimmy, I won't feel a thing.

6  
  
---  
  
 1 Nobody likes you; everyone left you. They're all out without you, having fun. 2 Where will all the martyrs go when the virus cures itself? And where will we all go when it's too late? And don't look back. 3 You're not the Jesus of Suburbia; the St. Jimmy is a figment of your father's rage, and your mother's love made me the idiot America.

7  
  
---  
  
 1 My heart is beating from me; I am standing all alone. Please call me only if you are coming home. 2 Waste another year flies by; waste a night or two. You taught me how to live. 3 In the streets of shame where you've lost your dreams in the rain, there's no signs of hope - the stems and seeds of the last of the dope. 4 There's a glow of light; the St. Jimmy is the spark in the night bearing gifts and trust: the fixture in the city of lust. 5 What the hell's your name? What's your pleasure and what is your pain? 6 Do you dream too much? Do you think what you need is a crutch? 7 In the crowd of pain, St. Jimmy comes without any shame. 8 He says, "We're fucked up," but we're not the same, and mom and dad are the ones you can blame. 9 Jimmy died today; he blew his brains out into the bay in the state of mind, it's my own private suicide.


End file.
